


Hanged Man's Game

by Lasenby_Heathcote, SMDarling



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Art Embedded, Asphyxiation, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extended Warning in End Note, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Gambling, Graphic Violence, HYDRA Trash Party, Humiliation, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Touching, Object Insertion, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexist Language, Strip Tease, Stun Baton, Vague memories of people from Before creeping in despite WS wipes, homophobic slur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 01:26:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14177580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasenby_Heathcote/pseuds/Lasenby_Heathcote, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SMDarling/pseuds/SMDarling
Summary: The Asset's reaction to his punishment for failing to adequately complete a mission gives the Strike Teamideas.





	Hanged Man's Game

**Author's Note:**

> Art created for The [MCU KinkBang](https://mcukinkbang.tumblr.com/) by Lasenby_Heathcote, on [Tumblr](https://lasenbyphoenix.tumblr.com/), and claimed to write for by SMDarling, here and on [Tumblr](http://smdarling.tumblr.com/)!!!! And shoutout to [Sass](https://sassbandit3000.tumblr.com/) and [Saff](https://saffrn.tumblr.com/) for your help betaing <3<3<3<3<3<3
> 
> (I've never played in the dumpster before, but I actually _adore_ Trash Party so please, make no mistake looking at what I've written before-- _this is 100% unapologetic trash_.)
> 
> Extensive extended warnings in end notes, and as always if there's anything you wish I'd tagged (or expanded on in the end notes) please let me know in a comment or send me an ask on Tumblr! <3<3<3

“What the _fuck_ was that, Soldier?” Rumlow spits, hand tangling in the Asset’s hair, forcing him to his knees. The target’s blood and brain splatter soak into the Asset’s tactical pants, her curly brown hair sticking to his kneepads. “She wasn’t supposed to _get this far!_ ”

“I don’t know, sir,” the Asset replies mechanically. “I’m sorry sir.”

“Your orders were to strangle her in her _sleep!_ ” Rumlow reminds him, shaking him like a dog. The Asset keeps his body limp, submissive, face expressionless even as his scalp stings. “No bullets! Quiet! _Instead_ , the bitch comes running out shrieking like a goddamn _banshee_ and I have to put her down!”

The Asset keeps his gaze lowered, eyes open, taking in the woman. Well, _woman_ is being generous. She is— was— sixteen years old, a tertiary target. The briefing required the entire family to be eliminated in their sleep via strangulation. It’s supposed to look like the work of a local gang who doesn’t believe in guns. 

The target has a very definitive bullet hole in what’s left of her head. 

“What the hell happened?” Rumlow demands again, with another vigorous shake. “I’ve never seen you fuck up like this!” 

“I don’t know, sir,” the Asset repeats, still looking at the girl. He’s not lying. Only, when he was standing over her, the rest of her family already dead in their beds, garrote wire in hand…

She was so young, brown curls wild across the pillow. He didn’t want to wrap the wire around her neck. He wanted to stroke the hair away from her face. He wanted… He wanted to _tuck her in_. Without thinking, he reached for her blanket. 

She woke at his touch and stared at him, eyes wide and blue. Behind the mask his lips formed an unfamiliar word. Instead of doing what he was supposed to do, what he was _made for_ —

“Becca?”

She shoved past him, ran out of the room and out of the house screaming. The Asset didn’t move from her bedside until he heard Rumlow’s shot, running after her with the unused garrote wire. 

“What’m I gonna do with you, stupid piece of fuckin’ shit, don’t you even know what this is for?” Rumlow hisses, yanking the wire from the Asset’s hand. It sears a line of fire across his flesh palm, but he doesn’t flinch. 

“Get in the fuckin’ van,” Rumlow orders as Rollins pulls up next to them. Rumlow shoves the Asset forward hard. His bleeding hand lands on what’s left of the girl’s face, a sharp edge of jagged bone next to her eye. He can still see the blue. Why is it so familiar?

“Get up and get in the _fuckin’ van!_ ” Rumlow yells, delivering a swift kick to the Asset’s gut. The Asset doesn’t flinch. He just pushes himself to his feet, gear smeared with the remnants of the girl (Becca? No, the briefing said—) and follows orders. One fuck up is one too many for Hydra. He can’t afford another.

He gets in the van.

****************************** 

“Strike Team Delta five minutes out from cleanup, Boss,” Rollins grunts as Rumlow slams the door shut. The tires squeal as the engine revs. Rollins pulls a tight turn, speeding up the long, private driveway toward the highway to get them off-site. 

“Shouldn’t have to be doing _any_ fuckin’ cleanup for this,” Rumlow growls, straightening from bracing against the interior side of the van. The Asset stands in the center, his own strength keeping him still in the face of inertia and other natural forces of physics. “This piece of fuckin’ shit forgot how to strangle someone at the last minute! I oughta remind him…” 

Rollins hums noncommittally, merging smoothly north toward their extraction point. “We’re twenty minutes out, Boss.”

The Asset bows his head, hair falling lank and knotted across his face from Rumlow’s hand in it. It isn’t enough to hide the ugly expression on Rumlow’s face. 

The cut from the wire itches on his palm as it heals. The Asset does not react. 

“On your knees!” Rumlow barks. The Asset drops like a stone. 

“Seems like you need a little refresher course,” Rumlow drawls, stalking behind the Asset. The Asset registers the sound of Rumlow wrapping the garrote wire around his fists. The Asset does not react. 

Rumlow lowers the loose wire over the Asset’s face, tucks it under his chin, behind his ears, snug against his skin, his windpipe, his carotid artery and jugular vein. 

“Dip your chin,” Rumlow orders, breath hot and stale in the Asset’s right ear. “Keep your arms down by your sides. This is your punishment, and you _will_ take it.”

“Yes sir,” the Asset says. Rumlow hasn’t pulled the wire tight yet, so the words aren’t difficult to speak. 

He can feel the bulge of Rumlow’s genitals pressing firm between his shoulder blades. Rumlow shifts, beginning the punishment.

At first, it’s just uncomfortable. The Asset is tempted to correct Rumlow— when garroting someone, the point is to make it quick, before they have a chance to fight back. But the Asset only speaks when spoken to, and this is his punishment. He was commanded to _take it_ , so whatever “it” is, he will take. Technique notwithstanding. 

The wire constricts further, until he can no longer draw in a full breath. He feels… It doesn’t feel like the Asset expected. There’s a numbness in his extremities, as the flow of his blood focuses on getting to his brain. 

But a lot of blood seems to be pooling somewhere else, somewhere he thought his body would be quick to ignore, somewhere it _usually_ ignores unless absolutely necessary. 

Rumlow tightens the wire further, so the Asset has to draw in quick, sharp breaths to pull oxygen into his lungs. With each one he can hear his blood pound in his ears, faster and faster. He can feel it throbbing, in his temples, in the pulse point of his neck, in his… pants? 

“Hey, Jack!” Rumlow hollers. “Is it just me or does it look like he’s poppin’ a stiffy back here?” 

The Asset raises his eyes in confusion, just long enough to witness Rollins glancing in the rear-view mirror at his crotch and grinning. “Sure does, Boss. Shoulda known he’d be one’a them kinky freaks.” 

“Think he can actually get off this way?” Rumlow asks thoughtfully. Rollins shrugs. 

“Got another ten minutes to find out, Boss.” 

The Asset feels Rumlow shift the garrote wire to one hand, tight at the nape of his neck under his hair, and squat down behind him, reaching his now free arm around the Asset’s front where he’s smeared with the blood and brains of the girl— Becca— _the target_ he _missed_ —

Rumlow yanks the wire back, hard, tight, making spots appear in the Asset’s vision. At the same time, he gropes over the crotch of the Asset’s tactical pants until he—

“Unh,” the Asset says, quiet because he doesn’t have enough air left in his lungs to be louder. “Wha?”

“It’s your dick, you dumbass. An erection? You’re _hard_ , you freak, _you like this_!” 

“I don’t—” the Asset can barely get the words out, voice scratchy and weak. But that’s okay, because he doesn’t know what he was going to say. Not that he doesn’t know what it is because intellectually, he’s aware of the existence of _erections_. He just didn’t know _he_ could get one. And he doesn’t _like_ it, but saying so would be a denial and Rumlow, a handler, just _told_ him he did. He can’t deny a handler. 

Rumlow squeezes the Asset’s cock again, yanking his head back with the wire, cutting off the rest of his air. 

The Asset’s hips buck up into Rumlow’s hand without his conscious permission. _That shouldn’t be possible._ Fuck, maybe he _does_ like it, but that’s not possible either. He doesn’t _like_ things—

Rumlow twists the garrote wire tighter and tighter in time with rough gropes of the Asset’s throbbing cock. Black and red spots swim before the Asset’s eyes, he’s vaguely aware his mouth is open, but he can’t close it. He might be making noise, Rumlow or Rollins might be saying something, but all he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears, _he can’t breathe_ — 

His balls feel heavy, his hips sway with— no, not with the movement of the van, is the van still moving? He can’t tell if they’re still moving, everything is going black, everything hurts, his penis, his testicles, his anus all clench down, spasm, all the muscles of his lower body convulse— is he having a seizure— 

Dimly he thinks he can hear Rumlow laughing, loud and abrasive, maybe Rollins too. Hot fluid soaks his pants, he can’t _breathe_ , the red is gone and everything is turning black…

****************************** 

“I’m still mad, Rumlow!” Sarah barges into the basement of the safe-house. “We were supposed to be home tonight, I had plans to cuddle with my babies!” 

She heads to the metal table carefully lined with bottles of booze by Rollins, picking up the Crown. 

“I’ll pour that for ya Sarah, if you want,” Rollins grunts. “We’re supposed to be sharin’ here.” She takes two long drags from the bottle without breaking eye contact, then licks her lips. 

“You wanna share with me?” she purrs, simpering, fluttering her eyelashes. Rollins raises his hands in surrender while Rumlow snorts with laughter. 

“Don’t do it, Jack! You know she ain’t got real babies at home!”

“Excuse me?” Sarah demands, whipping around. “My spiders _are_ babies, thank you very much!” 

“And I’m sure you’re just wearing their venom on your lips, aren’t ya sweetheart?” 

“Say that again and maybe you’ll find out!” 

Rollins shudders so hard some of the bottles clank together. “How the fuck you can stand a house full of black widow fucking _spiders_ I will _never_ understand.” 

Sarah turns back to him, sipping from the bottle as she goes. “I just think,” she says after a moment, “that it would be really funny if the great Black Widow was finally brought down by _a real black widow_. And one day, soon, my babies will be grown. Then I’ll be able to walk by, just drop one down the back of her suit, hide another in her gear…” Sarah shrugs, taking another drink. “Bye bye Black Widow.”

“You’re insane,” Rollins says flatly.

“Only if it doesn’t work.”

“And it’ll never work, therefore you’re insane,” Rumlow butts in, stretching. “Now where the fuck are the other two? We only sent them to get some fuckin’ rope, how hard can that _be_?”

“I think you’re overestimating them,” Sarah says, rolling her eyes. “Fuckin’ idiots. It was _my_ idea, you should’ve let me go.” But Rumlow shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, “you saw the Asset when we got here. I don’t know what it is about you he likes so much, maybe it’s a brown-hair-big-tits thing—” 

“—or first-orgasm-ever thing—?” Sarah interrupts, glaring. “You’re the one who got him off in the van, I’m just the one who didn’t want to sit around _bored_ all night long.” 

“I was _punishing_ him for fuckin’ up the mission,” Rumlow says, crossing his arms. “I didn’t realize he was gonna get off on it!” 

“More’s the pity,” Sarah says, sipping from her Crown. “He’s gonna think we’re punishing him _again_ , but this is supposed to be a game!” 

“What game, Pin the Tail on the Donkey?” Rumlow asks, rolling his eyes. 

Sarah just grins, all poison lipstick and gleaming teeth. 

******************************

Eventually, the other two arrive, stumbling into the basement with bags from the local hardware store full of the heaviest grade rope available. 

“We’re here, Boss!” one says. “Sorry it took so long, we just got caught up doin’ a little pre-gamin’, is all.” There’s a loud ‘sniff’, indicating exactly what kind of pre-gaming the two are talking about. 

“SHIELD drug tests, you know!” Sarah says, annoyed. 

“Good thing we ain’t SHIELD!” the big one says. 

“CJ. Lovely to see you,” Sarah says, voice flat. “And Richard. My two favorite teammates.”

“Aww baby, we knew you loved us,” CJ leers at her and she sneers back. He takes a lurching step forward, from which she smoothly retreats. 

“Hey, CJ, get that rope over here!” Rumlow interrupts, standing under an exposed steel beam. “We gotta get this set up!” 

“I’m not sure that’s gonna hold him,” Richard says nervously. “It’s not reinforced or anything. What if he fights back? _Fuck,_ I need a drink.” He turns to Rollins, who narrows his eyes. 

“What’d you two take?” 

“Aww, Jack please?” Richard begs, but Sarah interrupts by shoving her Crown into his arms. 

“Here,” she says, “you can have some of that.” Rollins eyes go wide and he shakes his head once, a hard no. “I’m gonna go get the Asset, and Richie? _Trust me_.” She leans in close to him, lowering her voice. Richard cringes away. 

“He won’t fight back.” 

****************************** 

The Asset waits upstairs, alone, expressionless. He’s not in uniform, just a set of loose clothes provided for down time in between missions. He doesn’t have any shoes, and his feet are cold after showering. 

But at least he’s clean, the target— Becca— _the target_ — 

“Asset! We’re ready for you!” The woman, curly brown hair but not like the target, Sarah but not _Sarah_ , is back. She’s talking to him again. “Come with me, Asset.” 

She isn’t a handler. He doesn’t have to obey her. 

He _wants_ to obey her. 

The Asset stands, following her down a set of steps into the basement of the safe house, where his— not _his_ — team are waiting. 

“Brock Rumlow, Field Commander Strike Team Alpha. Handler,” he identifies. Then, “Jack Rollins. SIC, Strike Team Alpha.”

He focuses on the other men next. “Richard Prince. Conor ‘CJ’ Anderson. Strike Team Alpha Reserve Members. Currently on full rotation.” 

The Asset returns his gaze to Sarah, on the steps behind him. “Sarah Hernandez. Strategic Analysis Strike Team Alpha.” He seems to be seeking her approval, as CJ sputters angrily. 

“What the _fuck_ ,” he swears, “why the hell does _she_ get a real designation and I don’t?”

“Oh, what, you got a problem with me bein’ a real useful member of this team unlike you?” Sarah demands, moving past the Asset and shoving her 5’4” frame right into CJ’s 6’3” one. “Is it ‘cause I got a pussy? And you can’t get any? You think you’re better than me, big guy? You think you deserve a designation? Then fuckin’ _prove_ it! _Earn it_ , like I did!” She spits in his face and spins on her heel.

He lunges after her but before he can hit, the Asset moves to encase his wrist in metal. 

“Unprofessional,” the Asset grunts.

The other four members of the Strike Team stare, then start cackling, even Richard conceding, “he’s got a point.”

The Asset isn’t sure what’s so funny. 

“Okay, okay!” Rumlow says eventually. “That’s not why the Asset’s here. Let him go!” 

The Asset drops CJ’s wrist, allowing the man to scuttle away to his comrades. 

“Now strip!” Rumlow orders. 

Sarah makes a quiet whoop, whether at Rumlow’s order or at the way Richard hands her a bottle of alcohol is unclear. 

The Asset frowns. This is not an unfamiliar command, however the timing is— he completed post-mission clean up approximately two hours ago, and there are no techs present for— 

“ _Strip_ ,” Rumlow orders again, and the Asset hastens to obey. “Slowly,” Rumlow corrects. “Make a show of it.”

The Asset isn’t sure what that means, but he has to do as he’s told. He reaches for the back of his loose, gray shirt, pulling it over his head. 

“Wait!” Sarah calls out. “Not like that!” He drops the shirt back down. 

“Strip tease, you know!” 

He doesn’t know.

“He doesn’t know!” CJ sneers at her. She rolls her eyes, handing her alcohol to him. 

“Like this.” She stands, shimmying her hips, hands crossing in front of her body, playing with the hem of her shirt. Playing with the edges, lifting one side, tugging it back down, repeating the process on the other side a little higher. Again and again, until the underside of her bra is visible. 

The Asset watches her instruction attentively. Finally she extends her elbows straight above her head, removing the shirt in one smooth motion, waving the shirt around with one hand, then tossing it aside. “Like _that_ ,” she emphasizes, before settling back, grabbing her alcohol from CJ. “That’s how you strip.”

“And how would you know?” CJ asks, leering.

She rolls her eyes and ignores him. “Your turn.” She nods at the Asset, and he does his best to replicate her movements.

Shimmy his hips. Play with the hem. One side up, back down. The other side, a little higher, back down. First side again, higher still. Once the underside of his chest is revealed, straighten his elbows above his head.

His shirt isn’t designed the same as hers, so it isn’t as easy to simply pull off. He has to strain, and the shirt ends up ripping. For a moment, a frisson of fear trails down his spine, but he follows through, twirling the shirt through the air with his metal hand and tossing it aside. 

“That was good, Asset,” she says, walking up to him, uncomfortably close. He tries to take a step back, but she hooks the fingers of her free hand in the waistband of his sweats, keeping him still. 

“Same concept with these,” she tells him, “shake your hips.” So he does, her fingertips keeping pace where they press against the skin just above his groin. “One side down a little, back up. Other side, down further, back up.” He follows her instructions.

“Then turn around.” He glances down at that, where her fingers are still hooked in his pants. She smirks up at him. “I’ll follow you, don’t worry.” 

She does, guiding him so his back is to the rest of the room. 

“Keep shimmying, Asset,” she instructs, so he does. “Reveal your ass, slowly, completely. Keep this—” her fingertips brush the base of his cock, flaccid and uninterested— “covered until the last possible moment.”

He feels the cool air of the room over his glutes, his upper thighs. He can’t get the pants any lower in the back without getting them down further in the front. 

“You spin, I’ll yank. Understand?” He doesn’t, not really, but he nods anyway.

“Three.” He inhales deep.

“Two.” Exhales. Her fingers dig into the fabric, scratching through his pubic hair as they go.

“One!” He spins on his heels as she yanks his pants down around his ankles in one smooth motion, leaving him bared to the gaze of Strike Team Alpha, who’re all hooting and hollering. 

“Step out of them now,” Sarah commands. The Asset obeys. 

She walks around to face him, and he suddenly has to fight a strong urge to cup his genitals with his hands, hide them from her view. She’s staring directly at them, examining them, judging his penis and testicles. This isn’t the first time he’s been exposed like this, not even in front of a woman, but something about her… His cheeks heat with a feeling he can’t identify, but he doesn’t need to be told to know covering himself would earn him punishment, be a mistake.

He can’t afford another mistake. 

She whistles in admiration. That’s gotta be a good sign, right?

“Serum do that?” she asks, turning to Rumlow, who shrugs.

“I figure, but never saw any files on it. Pierce probably knows for sure, if anyone alive does.”

“Except Rogers,” CJ sneers, only for Rollins to smack him upside the head. 

“Don’t fuckin’ mention him, dumbass!” 

“Rogers?” the Asset asks before he can prevent the question. They all look at him for a moment. 

“No one,” Rumlow says eventually, straightening. “Now, gents and my favorite terrifying lady, it’s time for the _real_ entertainment of the night to begin! CJ, Asset, you’re with me!” He jerks his head toward the far side of the basement. 

“Asset,” Rumlow says, “step right up!” 

The Asset obeys, facing out into the room.

“Elbows extended, out to your sides,” Rumlow orders. “CJ, tie his wrists.” 

CJ, for once, doesn’t question his orders, picking up ropes bolted to the floor and tying them tight around the Asset’s wrists to keep his arms still. Meanwhile, Rumlow gets on his knees, nudging the Asset’s legs apart to shoulder’s width to tie similar ropes to his ankles. 

“One more,” Rumlow declares, “and the main event will be ready!” 

The Asset can hear him lifting another rope, but he’s behind the Asset and the Asset does not have permission to look. 

The rope goes tight around the Asset’s neck, not yet constricting, just uncomfortable. 

“CJ,” Rumlow snaps, “make sure you’re slowly cranking him up as the night wears on, til he’s off the ground.” 

CJ grins. “Remind me what game this is again, Boss?” 

Rumlow doesn’t answer, instead nodding his head toward Sarah. The Asset looks toward her too, eyes wide. 

She steps up to him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek at the same time CJ cinches the rope around his neck just that much tighter, forcing his head back an inch. 

The flaccid cock between the Asset’s thighs jerks, and begins to swell. 

“You could break out of these ropes pretty easy, we all know that,” Sarah whispers to him, voice sweet. “But you’re not going to, right?”

The Asset shakes his head ‘no’ as much as the rope allows. 

“Right,” she says, then steps back. “Everyone!” She spreads her arms, turning away to face the rest of the team and gesturing at the Asset. “I present to you, The Hanged Man’s Game!”

The Strike Team cheers, Rumlow promising, “we’re gonna have so much fun.”

Meanwhile, while no one’s looking at his face for a moment, the Asset squeezes his eyes shut. He has a feeling the Strike Team might have fun but… as he registers his pulse beginning to throb in his neck and groin, he very much doubts _he’s_ going to have any fun at all.

****************************** 

“Shall we bet?” Rumlow suggests as the team finally settles. 

“On what?” CJ grunts, pulling the ropes another inch tighter. “Also, why do _I_ have to do this?” he complains, already bored with responsibility. 

“Leave him a few minutes, he’ll be fine. Just go back every once in a while,” Rumlow says while he digs in a first aid kit. “Now, bets! Ladies first?” He triumphantly holds up a roll of medical tape and a Sharpie, proffering them to Sarah. 

“Let me guess,” Sarah purrs, taking the offerings and matching Rumlow’s wicked grin. “How far he cums.” 

“Got it in one, babe.” Rumlow winks. 

“Call me ‘babe’ again, _Boss_ ,” Sarah says sweetly, “and you’ll be _down_ one, if you know what I mean.” Her eyes flick to his crotch and back up. 

“Didn’t mean to offend,” he demurs, inclining his head. She’s already turning away, back to the Asset, taking another drink. 

“Is he actually _going_ to cum?” she asks, bending at the waist to bring her face close to his cock. He’s barely half hard, just red and throbbing. He shivers involuntarily, dick twitching when her breath hits it. She shivers imperceptibly in return. “Maybe I should help get this party started?”

“Nah, Sarah,” Rollins says, “I’ve seen it. Cut off his air enough, he’ll go off like a goddamn rocket, no help needed.” 

“Pity,” Sarah says, continuing to inspect the Asset’s genitals. His head isn’t pulled back very far yet, so when she glances up she can meet his eyes, watching her, wide and blue. 

“Maybe I will anyway,” she whispers, eyes locked with the Asset’s, leaning forward. 

CJ cranks the rope. 

The Asset’s cock jumps against his testicles, his breath hitching. 

“Oh look, he’s enjoying it already!” Rumlow crows. “Now make your damn bet!” 

Sarah whips her head around, glaring. Rumlow raises a shot glass toward her before slamming it back. “Cheers!” 

Sarah huffs, taking another drag of Crown and straightening, considering the floor in front of the Asset, then again the Asset’s cock. With a rough hand, she grabs him, making his hips twitch. 

“Hey! No helping! What’d I _just_ fuckin’ say!” Rumlow snaps, slamming his second shot down, cracking the glass. 

“I’m just lookin’ at his balls, Boss, seein’ how much they hold! If he’s got fuckin’ jugs down here, there’s a lot more to send out, isn’t there?” Sarah snaps back, squeezing the Asset’s penis in her anger, making him moan as it swells even more. 

“Well you got your look, now let him go!”

Sarah tucks the Crown under her arm, groping the Asset’s scrotum, pulling to check the stretch of his sack away from his body, grinning as his thighs visibly flex in his effort not to react. 

“The fuck did I just tell you?” Rumlow demands, starting toward her. The Asset’s hips twitch, stuttering forward into her hands then back as if his body doesn’t know what it wants, unable to keep still. 

“There!” she says, dropping him and raising her hands. “Got my look, I’m done!” 

“You better be,” Rumlow growls. “Make your fuckin’ bet.”

She sneers at him, glaring him down. She can feel the Asset trembling next to her in the chill of the room. CJ pulls the rope on his neck half an inch higher, making his head rear back so she can only see the corner of his eye, see him straining to keep them in sight, as if they’re two rabid predators squaring off and he’s afraid whoever wins will come after him next. 

He wouldn’t be wrong. 

“Well, if you’re not gonna place your bet I’ll place mine,” Rollins says, leaning against the wall. 

“I’ll make it,” Sarah says, finally turning her back on Rumlow and marching past the Asset, carefully measuring her steps. 

“Did you know,” she begins, “the world record for farthest male ejaculation, held by Horst Schultz, is eighteen feet, nine inches?” 

“Nuh-uh!” CJ huffs, cinching the rope around the Asset’s neck further so it’s fully extended. Rumlow growls in irritation while Richard murmurs, “it’s true.”

“How the fuck do you know, Sarah? That your kink or something?” Rumlow barks. 

“If you’re really askin’, that sounds like sexual harassment,” Sarah says. “Besides, given _you_ choked him out first, I think it’s more your kink than mine.”

“Then what’s your point?”

“Schultz wasn’t a super soldier. _He_ —” she jerks her head at the Asset— “is. So my bet, $500 on twenty feet.” She rips a strip off with her teeth, crouches down, slaps it on the floor, uncaps the Sharpie, scribbles down her wager, and signs it before standing and taking another swig of Crown in one motion. 

“No fuckin’ way!” CJ bursts out, laughing. “Gimme that tape, Sarah baby.” He pulls the rope a couple inches further, making the Asset huff and choke before he finds a rhythm of shallower breaths through his compromised windpipe. 

Sarah throws the tape at CJ’s head, her aim off only because of the now half empty bottle of Crown she’s holding. 

“None of that,” Rollins growls, when CJ jerks toward her. “Make your bet.” 

CJ rolls his eyes, and Sarah bares her teeth, but tonight’s supposed to be a party so they let it lie. 

“Dude’s a pussy, Hydra’s practically _castrated_ him!” CJ declares, securing the crank and gesturing at Rollins. Rollins reluctantly hands him a light beer and gets a dirty look for his trouble. 

“I don’t know what kind of balls _you’re_ used to,” Sarah sneers, feeling oddly defensive, “but I’ve never felt a better pair in my life!” 

“Oh yeah?” CJ says. “Why don’t you come over—”

“She will _actually_ castrate you,” Rollins interrupts, “and we won’t stop her, so I suggest you shut the fuck up and make your _fuckin’ bet._ ”

“I’ll be surprised if he can get it past six feet!” CJ declares, taking a long draw from the beer to punctuate his statement. Sarah groans with disgust. 

“That your final answer?” Rumlow drawls, amused. 

“Sir, yes sir!” CJ nods proudly, even as he struggles to rip a piece of tape off and not spill his beer. He takes six uneven steps out in front of the Asset, hits his knees, and presses the tape to the concrete. “Sharpie?” he demands. 

Sarah rolls her eyes, tossing it underhand. He misses the catch completely, crawling after it and swearing. It comes to a stop an inch in front of the Asset’s toes. 

“Well?” CJ says, slurring. Whatever he and Richard ‘pre-gamed’ with is already interacting with the single beer he’s not even finished with, making him bypass tipsy completely. It’s shameful. “Kick it to me, bitch!” 

******************************

The Asset recognizes an order when he hears one, understands it even though he can’t see the object being referred to, doesn’t know what foot it’s in front of. His ankles are tied, his movement restricted. He can break the ropes, but he’s under orders not to, knows that would incur punishment. 

If he strains just a little, can he reach the object? With which foot? What if it’s large enough he needs momentum to move it?

His eyes move rapidly, darting from one end of the ceiling to the other, but it holds no answers for him. He flexes his toes on both feet, stretching them, feeling cool plastic against the big toe of the right one, is that it?

He doesn’t register the movement behind him until suddenly the noose around his neck _yanks_ , pulling him higher, forcing him up onto the balls of his feet, making his eyes bulge. He flails, managing to kick the pen at the same time to the cheers of the Strike Team. 

At last he regains his balance, heels unable to reach the floor, arms straining. He re-regulates his breathing with shorter breaths, smaller and faster, less oxygen able to pass each time, but if he keeps each one the same it’s enough. His neck tilts painfully far, and the edges of his vision blur red. 

Once again, he can feel his heartbeat equally strong in his temples and his groin. The flesh protrusion between his thighs no longer hangs limp, irrelevant. It throbs and aches. There’s pressure deep in his pelvis, unconnected to his bladder, radiating instead from the center of his scrotum. 

He’s vividly aware of the tension in the muscles of his asshole, how they clench shut, acutely empty. 

“D’you even _have_ $1000?” asks Sarah. 

“I will after tonight!” CJ spits. 

Richard starts talking next, about angles, physics, the curve of the Asset’s erection, the typical ratio of his strength compared to an unenhanced man of similar physical shape, and the psychological stress of his position. The rest of the Strike Team boos. 

“If I win, which I _will_ , it doesn’t matter how much I bet. If I lose, which I _won’t_ because _science_ , well you know what the goddamn pay here is like.”

Rollins talks softly, succinctly about how the Asset isn’t a normal man so he’s gonna be “impressive as hell no matter what bullshit Richard talks”, but that this “isn’t the ideal situation for distance cum-shooting”. 

Finally Rumlow takes his turn, walking out in front of the Asset. Further than Richard, than Rollins, than even Sarah. The Asset can’t see him, but he can hear him, his loud, confident walk getting farther and farther away. 

“Boss,” Sarah says, near to the Asset’s side, “you’re fuckin’ crazy!” 

“Three grand,” Rumlow declares, “on these ugly fuckin’ walls gettin’ a new fuckin’ paint job by the time he goes off!” There’s the noise of tape being ripped from a roll again, a marker scratching across it. “Too bad we couldn’t invite Guinness World Records to the party, eh?”

“I’m crankin’ him up another notch, Boss!” CJ’s voice, behind the Asset again, making him want to flinch. 

The Asset can feel a steady stream of precome dripping from his cock. 

Sarah, next to him. “Do it!” 

******************************

Bets made, Strike Team Alpha gather around the Asset, drinks in hand. Rumlow kicks CJ off the crank, not trusting him to keep the escalation even. Despite his own tequila shots, Rumlow maintains a steady pressure, raising the Asset higher centimeter by centimeter. 

Sarah hops up on the end of the drinks table, crossing her legs and propping herself up on one arm, eyes fixating on the Asset’s cock as it swings gently with his ascension. It’s entrancing. 

“He’s fuckin’ huge,” she mutters to Rollins, who hums noncommittally in response. She’s louder than intended, catching CJ’s attention. 

“What, that thing?” CJ scoffs, stumbling forward to slap the Asset’s cock, making the Asset give a pitiful grunt and scramble on his toes to keep his balance. A thick glob of precome oozes from the tip at the attention, smearing across the Asset’s belly. 

“Watch it!” Sarah growls, sitting up straight. CJ just rolls his eyes, wiping his hand on his pants. 

“I’m just sayin’,” CJ says, “he ain’t nothin’.”

“Oh really?” Sarah says. “Well, if you’re suggestin’ you’re packin’ more, which I very much _doubt_ —” she leers at his crotch— “take it out, we can have a measuring contest too! I’ll put another five hundred on the Asset!” 

“Hey!” CJ squawks, hands covering himself. “Boss! Now _she’s_ sexually harassing _me_!” 

“Only if you lose,” Rollins says dryly. Rumlow cackles, cranking the rope further so the balls of the Asset’s feet can no longer touch concrete. 

“Rich!” CJ says, turning to his last comrade. “Help me out here!” 

“I don’t know a goddamn thing about your dick, and I don’t want to,” Richard says, “but I’d be very surprised if yours was bigger.” 

Before CJ can protest, Sarah interrupts, “hey, Boss, seriously. What if he passes out before he cums?” 

“The fuck’re you talkin’ about?” Rumlow asks. 

“Just,” Sarah says, gesturing toward the Asset with her Crown. 

His eyes are bulging, lids rapidly fluttering over them. His entire face is bright red with blood, fingertips and knuckles of his flesh hand turning blue where it’s clenched out to his side. His legs are shaking, big muscles trembling uncontrollably. 

The Asset is clearly still breathing, rib cage moving, but it’s shallow and fast. They can hear him wheezing. His lips are turning purple. 

His cock retains hardness, the glans swollen and leaking. His testicles are drawn up, ready for release. But he seems to be trapped on the edge, and far closer to losing consciousness than achieving orgasm. 

“If he faints, he’ll still cum. I promise,” Rumlow swears. Sarah narrows her eyes, suspicious but equally curious and eager to witness Hydra’s infamous Asset shooting off. It’s sure to be glorious.

Rollins steps forward, leaning into Rumlow’s side, having a brief, whispered conversation with him. 

Meanwhile, Sarah finally sets down her bottle, bracing her knees on her elbows, gaze locked on the Asset’s cock. She shifts, squeezing her thighs together, glad she isn’t as obvious as CJ adjusting himself through his pants. 

Rollins nods at Rumlow, mouth quirking up.

Rumlow heaves all his strength into the crank, lifting the Asset clear off his feet. Bright blue eyes fly open, his mouth making an almost silent, choking gasp. His body writhes, cock bobbing in the air, testicles bouncing against thick thighs. 

Sarah leans forward eagerly, mouth watering. 

The Asset’s entire body seizes as his eyes flutter shut, finally drifting into unconsciousness, but he doesn’t cum. 

Sarah sighs with disappointment. 

“Better get him down quick,” she says, standing, then freezes.

Rumlow’s secured the rope, keeping the Asset suspended by the throat, suffocating, strangling. He whips his stun baton out of his utility belt, reaching around to drag the end up the Asset’s slick cock, gathering a thick smear of precome. With the other, he digs his nails into one of the Asset’s cheeks, pulling it open to reveal the Asset’s tiny, clenching hole.

He forces the baton in a couple inches at an angle, making the Asset’s entire body jerk in his bonds. Sarah can see the Asset’s pulse in his cock. 

The Asset doesn’t regain consciousness. 

“Holy shit!” she yells, clapping her hands. Rumlow grins wickedly at her over his shoulder, takes his hand off the Asset’s ass, and thumbs the baton’s switch. 

******************************

The Asset’s entire body tenses all at once, every muscle locking up. His eyes fly open, awareness flooding back. 

Then everything releases, the rope loosening by about five inches, letting oxygen flood into his lungs as electricity floods into his ass. 

He screams, twisting, still held by the ropes at his wrists and ankles. 

Semen shoots from the slit of his cock, thick arcs one after another after another, flying farther and farther until— 

“Yes! I _fucking win_!” Rumlow’s voice, loud in the Asset’s ear. The baton falls away, leaving his ass spasming painfully around nothing.

The Asset keeps shooting stream after stream of white hot cum, painting the wall then the floor, orgasm prolonged by his renewed ability to breathe. 

Finally, his cock dribbles one last spurt, landing pitifully a couple feet in front of him as he softens. He observes blankly, entire body shivering violently, mouth open as he gulps in air. 

He was right. 

That wasn’t fun at all. 

There’s a moment of shocked silence, only interrupted by the Asset’s harsh, choking gasps as he regains his breath, and the splatter of his semen as it drips down the wall. 

“You fuckin’ _cheated!_ ” Sarah screeches, shoving off the table and lurching toward Rumlow. “I’m not fuckin’ _payin’ you_ for that!” 

“Yeah!” CJ agrees after a beat. “Boss, that was bullshit!” 

Rumlow laughs.

“The use of the baton certainly changed the parameters,” Richard adds, frowning.

“Oh, what, you’re all in agreement? You think I fuckin’ _cheated?_ ” Rumlow asks with a wicked smirk. “Even you, Jack?”

“It wasn’t like what happened in the van,” Rollins concedes. 

Still laughing, Rumlow throws his hands up in surrender. “Fine! I won’t take your money! If— if— y’all agree not to tell Pierce when I fuck the Asset’s mouth!” 

“I knew this was your kink!” Sarah sneers, but she keeps her eyes on the Asset as she says it. His mouth is open wide, red and wet. It’s _pretty_ , for lack of a better word, and seeing it stuffed full of cock, even Rumlow’s, is a tempting thought. “But deal, so long as next closest wins!” 

“Glad we could come to an agreement,” Rumlow says, nodding at her as he cuts the rope holding the Asset up, dropping the Asset to hands and knees. 

“Quick question,” Sarah says, pretending to study her fingernails disinterestedly. “How’re you planning to avoid getting any piercings in your dick, Boss?”

Rumlow winks at her, picking up his discarded baton and waving it. “This way,” he says, walking around to stand in front of the Asset. “Open wide!” he commands. The Asset obeys, allowing Rumlow to jam the baton between his back teeth, wedging his jaw open. 

“Hmm,” Sarah says, raising an eyebrow. That baton sure is useful. 

“Hey, I didn’t agree to next closest winning! Boss _cheated!_ Whole bet is invalid!” CJ protests, interrupting Sarah’s musings. 

“Oh shut the fuck up, you just don’t wanna give a girl a thousand bucks,” Rollins snaps before Sarah can respond. 

“Thanks, Jackie,” she simpers, moving to kiss Rollins’ cheek. He sidesteps her neatly. 

“No thanks, I know you make your own lipstick. How you don’t accidentally poison yourself, I’ll never know.” 

She pouts her lips at him, and he shudders.

“No! It’s not fair!” CJ says. 

“Shut up already, you’re ruinin’ this for me,” Rumlow grunts, unzipping his trousers. “I wanna enjoy my just reward.”

“You _cheated!_ ” 

“I _won!_ ” Rumlow corrects. “This is _Hydra_ , kid. Winning is all that matters.” He looks down at the Asset, bloodshot eyes obvious even across the room, mouth drooling around the baton. “Isn’t that right?” He pats his cheek as he feeds his dick into the Asset’s throat. “Choke me down, that’s it.”

Rumlow forces his cock all the way into the Asset’s throat, surely sore and raw from the strangulation, making him choke. He keeps it there, depriving the Asset of air yet again, letting the Asset gag and drool around him, and sighs. “Ah. _Hashtag winning._ ”

“Still not fair,” CJ grumbles. Sarah smacks him upside the head. 

“Let Rumlow enjoy,” she growls. “Unless you want us to bet on how far _you_ can cum while hanging from the ceiling.”

CJ glares, but doesn’t say anything else. Sarah turns back to Rumlow, watching him pull his cock out to soak up some of the tears leaking from the Asset’s eyes, before shoving back in and setting up a fast, rough rhythm of fucking the Asset’s throat.

“Hey,” she whispers, “Rollins, Richard, you too.” Richard jerks away from where he’s crouching behind the Asset, timing how fast the muscles of his asshole close up after being so brutally fucked open by Rumlow’s baton.

“We all agree Rumlow cheated, right? Invalidated the bet?” Sarah says quietly. Richard and CJ murmur agreement, while Rollins just shrugs. “How about a different bet, for the rest of us?”

The men look at each other, then back to her, bottle of Crown in one hand, dangerous grin on her face. 

“What did you have in mind?” Rollins asks slowly. 

“After Boss has his fun,” Sarah says, “how about— same wagers— we see who can make him cum the fastest? He’s a super soldier, right? Richard, you would know, you like watching him in the lab, he can go more than once in a row?”

Richard nods eagerly. “Yeah, I saw a stamina test once, they got him to go off _twenty times_ without going soft—”

“Exactly!” Sarah interrupts him. “So we can each have a turn, it’ll be even.”

“What, you want us to all fuck him?” CJ sneers. “Cuz I ain’t a fuckin’ fag like Rumlow.”

“Watch your mouth,” Rollins snaps. CJ rolls his eyes, but Sarah talks before he can. 

“No, and I don’t have a _dick_ , asshole. What I was thinking, that stun baton trick? It looked _really fun_.” She grins at the others. 

Rollins shrugs. “Whatever. If Boss agrees, I’m down for it.”

“It’ll be nice to see what the pussy can take!” CJ says.

“Thought you weren’t a fag,” Sarah snarks.

“Hey, I’m not—”

They’re interrupted by a hideous retching noise, the Asset gagging, struggling to swallow down Rumlow’s semen even as it leaks down his chin. “Take it bitch, take it! Swallow,” Rumlow orders, holding the baton at an angle so he can snap his hips against the Asset’s face, grinding into his mouth.

Finally, he sighs and pulls out with a squelch, stepping back and letting the Asset collapse face first into a puddle of spit and cum, mouth still open around the baton, throat spasming as he tries to obey and _swallow_ the bitter, burning liquid.

“So,” Rumlow says smugly, tucking himself back in as he saunters over to the group. “That was fun.”

“We’ve had an idea,” Sarah says, smirking.

Rumlow raises an eyebrow. “All of you? Really?”

“We go in order of who was closest. You’re out, since you already ‘won’ once, sorry Boss.” 

“Oh yeah?” Rumlow says. Sarah strides toward the Asset, Rumlow and the others following close behind.

“Yeah,” she says, crouching in front of the Asset. “Winner is whoever can make him cum the fastest. Richard, you time.” 

******************************

The woman with the curly brown hair, Becca? _No not Becca_ Sarah, _her name is Sarah_ , but that’s not right, _Sarah’s hair isn’t that color_ —

“Know what this is?” she removes the object from the Asset’s mouth, holds it in front of his face. His eyes are blurry, filled with tears. He blinks, focusing, and nods. 

“Good boy,” she says, running a hand gently through his hair. He relaxes into her touch. “You’ll enjoy this, I promise.” He nods again, because _Sarah’s_ the one making the promise. 

His chest is pressed to the floor in a pool of his own semen, arms still pinned out to his sides by the ropes on his wrists. He’s on his knees, legs spread, ass in the air, red hole exposed. He can feel it twitching in the cold air. 

“I’m just gonna keep this on low for now,” Sarah says, standing. The Asset doesn’t know if she’s talking to him. She walks behind him, hand in his hair moving down to his neck, stroking the bare skin of his back along his spine as she goes. He shivers. 

“Tell me when,” Sarah says. 

“Now,” someone else says. There’s the crackle of static, the sound of the baton coming to life. The Asset lifts up his head, looking over his shoulder at Sarah. She smiles at him, one hand still and gentle on his tail bone, the other lowering the baton out of his sight. 

She skips right over the Asset’s hole, going for his soft, dangling cock and balls, running the sparking tip up and down the crease of his scrotum, the big vein on the underside of his penis, then pressing it to his swollen glans. The lowest setting is barely more than a trickle, a light tease, a static shock. 

He whimpers, growing hard quickly.

“See? Told you you’d enjoy this, didn’t I?” she says, smiling wider, bright red lipstick and white teeth. 

He nods hesitantly, returning her smile as best he can while his own lips are still sore from Rumlow’s face-fucking, before setting his head back down on the wet concrete. She teases the slit of his cock, where it aches a little from expelling so much semen so suddenly with so much force. 

She drags the crackling tip of the baton up his perineum, drawing out a loud keen. 

She even runs it around his rim for him, making it twitch, clenching and loosening. The Asset vaguely thinks this is wrong, he isn’t supposed to _like_ things, but Sarah told him to enjoy this and he does, _he does_ — isn’t it worse, though, because _Sarah_ is the one doing it to him—

Rumlow says something, and she takes the baton away. The Asset can’t resist whining, pushing his ass back toward her, seeking more. 

“What the _fuck_ Sarah, the ‘lethal force’ setting? That’ll kill—” 

“We know he’s taken more electricity before,” she says. 

Sarah places the tip of the baton over the Asset’s anus, pressing in, _finally_. The Asset pushes back, panting. 

“Sarah,” he says on an exhale, barely audible, the name feeling awkward yet somehow familiar on his lips, in his mouth. 

He freezes, expecting punishment. _He’s not allowed to say her name!_

“Yeah, doll,” she says, just as quiet. “I’m here.” He inhales again. 

A little louder, she says, “relax, bear down. Let it in.” The Asset obeys.

She fits the baton snug against his prostate, rocking it back and forth. 

The Asset’s eyes roll at the pleasure infusing his gut, his groin. His cock, his balls, his ass, they’ve never felt like this before, _he’s_ never felt like this before. 

It’s too much, it’s so _good_ , he can’t handle it, _what is this_ —

She turns it on.

The Asset’s world whites out with fire and pain, his genitals spasming again, the semen milked from his body by the electricity feeling like razor blades ripping up the inside of his penis— 

_This_ is familiar— 

Throat already tender and raw, the Asset screams until it bleeds.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, all our gratitude to the MCU Kink Bang mods, thank you for all your hard work!
> 
> I LOVED writing for this, the art is AMAZING so much love to Lasenby_Heathcote for her skills!!!!! <3<3<3 you are GREAT, thank you for this opportunity!!!!!!!!!!!!! ~~ Darling
> 
> PS. That random trivia about the record for farthest male ejaculation? Is 100% true according to Google
> 
> [Check out our masterpost!!!!](https://bedofphoenixashes.tumblr.com/post/172506417914/hanged-mans-game-fic-hanged-mans-game-art) 
> 
>  
> 
> ***Major Spoilers with full extended warnings***
> 
> Bucky is referred to as "The Asset" throughout the story. It begins with him failing to strangle the 16yo target in her bed as per orders, because she looks like his sister Rebecca. He accidentally wakes her up instead, and she flees the house. 
> 
> Rumlow kills her by shooting her in the head, which is described after the fact in graphic detail. 
> 
> Rumlow is angry at The Asset, and on the way back to the Hydra safe-house he "punishes" The Asset by strangling him, which unexpectedly causes The Asset to grow an erection and ejaculate. 
> 
> This leads to the entire Strike Team, Rumlow, Rollins, and three OCs (CJ, Richard, and Sarah - focus on Sarah), deciding to create The Hanged Man's Game, wherein they slowly hang The Asset to force him to orgasm, and bet on how far he ejaculates. They begin by forcing him to put on a strip tease, under Sarah's guidance, during which he feels shame. 
> 
> It is implied throughout that he finds Sarah familiar for reasons he cannot articulate even to himself, partly because she, like the target earlier in the day, resembles Becca and partly because he recognizes her name somehow. It is also implied that, because of this sense of familiarity, he is especially eager to obey and thus please her.
> 
> There is also mention of illegal drug use, and the Strike Team is drinking alcohol throughout. 
> 
> While he is being hanged, they comment on, inspect, and Sarah then later CJ briefly grope The Asset's genitals. As the "game" progresses, Sarah worries that he will pass out without orgasming. 
> 
> He does eventually pass out, and Rumlow uses a stun baton to force him to orgasm, which also forces him back to consciousness. 
> 
> The Asset is then cut down from being hanged, though his arms and legs are still restrained, and Rumlow, having won the "bet", agrees that instead of money from the other Hydra agents, he will accept fucking The Asset's mouth as his "winnings", which he proceeds to do in graphic detail. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Sarah discusses the terms of another bet about how fast the rest of the team can force The Asset to orgasm using the stun baton. 
> 
> Once Rumlow orgasms, Sarah takes the stun baton and uses it, first on a low setting to force The Asset to another erection, then on "lethal force" setting to force The Asset to another orgasm. During this, The Asset's familiarity with her is elaborated on even more heavily, especially her name making him recall Sarah Rogers (though he does not at any point actually recall Sarah Rogers, or anything more than just the name "Sarah" making him want to trust her).


End file.
